Century
by Commander Zia
Summary: 100 Naruto drabbles. Latest: .::Guilt::. 'Kakashi supposed this was what had made Hiruzen such a good Hokage. Unlike Kakashi, he knew how to deal with the guilt.' Kakashi has trouble choosing Ibiki's fate. -Teaser for a time travel fic I'm thinking about-
1. Never

Welcome to Century! This story was previosly known as Forever 365, a set of daily drabbles, until I realised I was just too lazy (shika!) to do that. Therefore this turned into Century, a set of 100 drabbles written often but not daily. I don't own Naruto, and I hope you enjoy the show!

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**N** e v e r

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Iruka's hands shook as he held onto the kunai, the small blade inches from the neck of the boy sleeping under him. _The demon!_ He reminded himself bitterly, biting back tears. The new school year had started last week, and _he'd_ come in. Iruka tried to forgive him, he really did but every second he stared at his parents' murderer he grew more angry. He rocked nervously on the balls of his feet, beginning to shake even more. Why was he nervous? He shouldn't be. He _was_ going to kill the demon, he _had_ to kill the demon-

"N- no-!" Iruka jerked as the boy began to moan, before realizing he was talking in his sleep. "S- plea-!"

Iruka bit his lip. He wasn't feeling sorry for the demon, he _wasn't_. He- he-

"Dammit!" Tears finally ran down his cheeks and he wiped them away angrily, glaring at the small boy. He was a boy, wasn't he. He'd never realized it before but he looked so small and helpless, sleeping like that. And really, it wasn't as if he _wanted_ a demon inside of him. But still-

"Damn you!" Iruka shouted helplessly, turning and running out of the small apartment and slamming the door. Damn him! Fucking demon! Fucking stupid…. little…_helpless_ boy. Iruka hated- no. He didn't hate him. He _couldn't_ hate him.

Continuing to run Iruka stuffed the kunai back into his pocket, wiping the leftover tears away from his face.

_You haven't won yet!_ He said to himself, to the demon, with an anger he wasn't quite sure was actual anger. _I'm not losing to a bastard like you! Not now, not ever! I'll take care of that boy and he'll never become anything like you! Never!_


	2. Avenger

Hey guys- me agian. Here's an insane!Sakura-centric oneshot, because who _doesn't_ love driving our favorite pink-haired kunoichi crazy?

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**A **v e n g e r

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Her feet moved across the ground swiftly, her long cloak flying out behind. She couldn't pretend she wasn't excited. This was it. He could finally be avenged. He could finally rest in peace.

"Avenger…" She almost chuckled as she spoke. "A heavy burden you've given me Sasuke."

Finally hearing laughter vaguely in the distance she falters. This was going to be it. But as soon as it came the thought gave her strength, and she ran even faster towards the loud voices. She felt excited- this was what she'd been training for. This was why she hadn't killed herself the night she'd found him, bleeding from his wrists in his bedroom. This was why she'd become so strong. She would avenge him!

Something orange flashed before her eyes as she came closer to her old home, and she tugged the hood off her head. Pink flipped down before her eyes as her bangs fell down, and she shook her head to free her hair completely. They would know who it was that killed them. She'd make sure of that.

"Who are you?" A loud, sickeningly familiar voice appeared behind her and she whirled around to face the blonde boy. He looked more fox-like than when he was younger, his eyes slanted and the whisker marks on his cheeks more pronounced. But this was him. This was the one who'd killed her Sasuke. Naruto's eyes widened suddenly as they flickered from her long hair to her green eyes, his mouth falling open. "S- Sakura?"

She kept her face blank and watched as his eyes traveled to the scratched hitai-ite around her neck, before running further towards the village. Naruto had companions there, and she wanted to make them all pay for what they'd done. She would avenge _him_.

"Sakura- Sakura wait!" Ignoring the confused voice behind her she continued to run until she reached a small clearing. There were two others there, Hinata and Kakashi. She growled as she saw him. He was the worst by far, never seeing anything but Sasuke's sharingan. He was worse than Naruto.

"Sakura…" Kakashi growled darkly as he saw her, his eye narrowing. He could see the hitai-ite, scratched deeply, and the crazed look in her eyes. But he didn't know the half of it, the bastard, he didn't know the half of what he'd done!

"Kakashi." She said, her voice dark. The others in the clearing, along with the just-arriving Naruto, froze to look at her. They'd all heard that she'd been kidnapped and killed by Orochimaru, so why was she here?

"Sakura!" Hinata let out a relieved cry. She'd been very broken up about Sakura's capture and, more importantly, so had Naruto. She always did like him best, didn't she?

"What do you want?" Kakashi asked bluntly as he glared at her, sensing danger, his hand resting on his own hitai-ite, as if threatening her. Pathetic, she wanted to say. The number of times she'd seen Sasuke use it- she knew the sharingan backwards and forwards.

"You always were slow." She snorted back, glowering at him. Of course he didn't remember what he'd done. Suddenly jumping forward, faster than any of them could react to, she got behind Hinata, pressing her short sword against her neck. "And you, you always liked Naruto, didn't you? Sasuke really liked you though. Wanted to be your friend when you were small. Too bad you ignored him."

Sakura stared out at an angry Naruto, before turning to Kakashi, who had look of mild, frightened shock on his face. He knew, now. But it was too late. Much too late. He growled. "So you've become-"

"An avenger." She finishes for him, smiling as she suddenly digs her blade into Hinata's neck. The small girl drops to the ground heavily, blood spraying her in the face. She cleaned her lips of the liquid, licking them slowly just to watch Naruto's face contort in rage. It was _fun_, watching him be like that. Now she understood why Sasuke liked to annoy him, back when he'd wanted to have Naruto as a friend. Of course, it was too late now. After another split second she leaps forward, towards the grey-haired copy-nin. "You have to go as well, of course. You only ever saw him as a tool, as an Uchiha prodigy." She spat the words like a curse, sarcasm turning the statement into a threat. _Don't worry! I'll avenge you Sasuke!_

But as she reached him she felt cold. He wasn't there. She'd misjudged. How could she? It was a stupid mistake- she should have been able to make a hit like this-

"Like you knew the real Sasuke either, fan-girling on him like you did." Kakashi spat, with nothing else to say, appearing behind her and kicking her violently into a nearby tree. Damn! She'd been set up!

"I was stupid then!" She shouted angrily. "At least I tried to get close to him! When I got captured he let me in, and then you killed him!" Whirling around she swore, glowering at the confused copy-nin. "You killed him you fucking selfish bastards! You never even tried to help him!"

Naruto gives her a half angry, half scandalized look before rushing to Hinata's side. Kakashi just continues to stare. And suddenly, he's not there. She whirls around to face him, but before she can turn around she feels something stab her chest from behind, and she almost topples over. Dammit! All those years and she'd still fallen for this! Dammit! Collapsing to the ground she growls, hearing Kakashi walk to her front.

"Fine." She pants, pushing herself up just enough to look at her ex-mentor. "But remember, all you're doing is killing another m-misunderstood outcast, for-forced to avenge those they loved. You- you're just killing S-Sasuke again."

Kakashi looks down at the dying girl with a look of profound pity, trying to ignore Naruto's anguished screams.


	3. Friends?

So this is from when all the ninja were tiny, because back then Sasuke was cute beyond belief, wanted to be friends with Naruto, and it wouldn't have been impossible for him to have a small crush on Hinata.

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**F** r i e n d s **?**

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"I- I-" Hinata looked at the ground and scraped her small feet in the dirt. Naruto continued to look at her cheerfully, smiling widely. Maybe he could make a new friend! Hinata blushed darkly, wringing her hands. "I- I like-"

"Sasuke you bastard!"

Hinata's eyes shot up to see Naruto, water now dripping down his face, scowling at the young Uchiha. Sasuke only gave him a superior look, sticking out his tongue and waving an empty cup in front of Naruto's face.

"I'm faster than you are!" He said proudly, oblivious to Hinata's stare. Hinata continued to watch him as he began to run away from Naruto, laughing loudly. "I'm stiiiiiiiiill faster!"

"Stupid stupid Sasuke! You poo!" Naruto ran after Sasuke, eyes shining and pouting. Hinata blushed in joy and pride as she watched him continue to chase the faster boy.

"I- I think y-you're both pretty fast." Hinata stuttered, looking back at the ground. Sasuke and Naruto paused at this, turning to her before smiling widely, Sasuke proudly, and Naruto excited.

"Sasuke poo did you hear that! I'm fast too!" Naruto turned to stick his tongue out at Sasuke, who just scowled. "And THAT means I'm just as good as you are!"

Sasuke growled, but didn't deny it. Hinata smiled at him, and when Sasuke noticed he blushed slightly, turning to her. "Would you like to come over and play with me? Nii-san has work today so I'll be the only one home."

Naruto pouted at that angrily. "You only want her to be your friend because she said good things about you! She's my friend too so I'm coming if she is!"

Sasuke turned bright red at this, glaring at the blonde boy grumpily. "Fine then. Both of you can come home with me, but only if _you_ don't break anything!"

"Aye aye captain!" Naruto yelled cheerfully, following Sasuke out of the school yard. Hinata, however, was frozen in place. _How had this happened? Had Sasuke really invited her over to the Uchiha compound?_

"Are you coming Hinata?" Sasuke called, and nodding fiercely Hinata began to chase after them, grinning. _She got to spend time with Naruto! She got to spend time with people who weren't other Hyuugas! She had finally made friends!_

As the three ninja-in-training ran into the Uchiha compound they were laughing, Sasuke and Naruto loudly as Hinata giggled shyly.

"And so I said 'I'm and Uchiha!' and he turned white! It was like some magic word!" Sasuke smiled and though Naruto tried to look annoyed he obviously thought it was funny as well.

"C-Clans are usually very well known. Most people probably know of the Uchihas and are scared of them." Hinata said, panting slightly as she ran next to the two boys. Sasuke frowned at this.

"But Otousan says he helps people. Why should they be scared of him?"

"Who's scared of me?" As the stern voice came from behind them the three whipped around.

"Otousan you're home!" Sasuke said cheerfully before frowning slightly. "Hinata said people are scared of us. Why would they be scared of us? You know, I bet they're just jealous of our eyes! Anyway, this is Hinata and that is Naruto. Hinata's my friend."

Naruto opened his mouth to complain about not being a friend when Sasuke's father glared at him darkly.

"Don't you dare come near my son again, demon. Do you hear me? Now get out!" Naruto flinched at the sudden outburst fearfully before turning and running out of the compound.

"Why can't I see Naruto anymore!" Sasuke said desperately, tears threatening to fall as he tugged on his father's arm. He just shook Sasuke off, glaring at Hinata before turning and walking back into the house.

"Hinata, you may go home now. Sasuke, don't bring any friends back here again."

Sasuke glared angrily as Hinata began to cry. "Why should she have to go home? Why did Naruto have to leave? Why can't I bring friends-"

"Do what I tell you!" His father answered sharply without even turning around. Sasuke pouted furiously, before turning to give Hinata an apologetic smile. She gave him a quick, apologetic look in return before whirling around and running out of the compound. Sasuke growled and whipped around to yell at his father again. _Why couldn't his friends stay?_

But when he turned around his father wasn't there, leaving an empty street. Sasuke scuffed his feet on the ground, beginning to pace because he didn't want to go inside and face his father again.

Rebellious tears began to fall down his cheeks, and Sasuke wiped them away angrily. "I hate you I hate you I hate you!"


	4. Careless Whisper

Here's a little InoShikaCho love-angst for ya, cause team 10 is just the bestest X) after Team Gai, of course, but that's something else entirely.

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**C** a r e l e s s **W **h i s p e r

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_"I'm never gonna dance again_  
_cause guilty feet have got no rhythm_  
_Though it's easy to pretend_  
_I know you're not a fool._  
_I should have known better than to cheat a friend_  
_And waste the chance that I'd been given._  
_So I'm never gonna dance again_  
_the way I danced with you."_

_-'Careless Whisper' by Seether_

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She'd always liked the way Choji would smile at her whenever she'd do something right, completely supportive of whatever she'd done. He'd always been genuinely proud of her, no matter how much better than him her accomplishment had made her. Choji would grin and give her a quick kiss, and she'd shiver happily before hugging him back. When they were younger they hadn't really known what being 'girlfriend' and 'boyfriend' meant. They'd enjoyed being a 'couple,' and liked to kiss whenever they could, because it felt good to know the other was there.

And that's what they'd been doing, as far as she was concerned. They'd been 'having fun.' She'd grown out of the crush eventually, beginning to rely on Choji as a friend rather than as a love interest. Part of that was the diversion of Sasuke, and partly she was just growing up.

Choji hadn't just been having fun. He'd liked her for as long as he could remember, and though he wasn't obsessive he'd always pampered her, loving her like he knew a good boyfriend should. He didn't grow out of his 'crush,' continuing to like her as they continued to grow up. He still supported her, and spent most of his time convincing himself not to be jealous or gloomy. He didn't want her to be sad. He loved her that much.

Eventually she began to like someone else, her second teammate, though she didn't show it as much as she had with Choji. She flirted with him discreetly, content merely to be around him. Choji recognized this, spending most of his time enjoying _her_ presence, and began to feel like a third-wheel. Still, he told himself to do become withdrawn would be unfair to both of his teammates, and to himself, and found a way to feel genuinely happy for them.

It took her a while to notice, but she wasn't stupid, and could tell Choji genuinely wanted her and Shikamaru to be happy. But in a way, she didn't want that. She felt like loving Shikamaru was a betrayal, and wanted Choji to be angry. She wanted a slap in the face to make her face herself. But it didn't come, and that made her angry. Choji, she eventually decided, was too nice for his own good.

And eventually, Shikamaru began to have an interest in her. She began to see him, dating him on-and-off for several years. They began to know each other better than anyone else, and they'd share countless evenings alone in her apartment. Sometimes, when she'd fall asleep on his chest, she'd begin to feel guilty, for leaving Choji behind. He isn't jealous, a small part of her mind would remind her, he doesn't mind. But she wanted him to feel jealous, to come back and tell her he loved her. She didn't want him to give her everything she wanted. That just made it harder.

"Ino, don't you have a date with Shikamaru tonight?"

She turned to Choji, brought out of her thoughts by his voice, and paused for a second before nodding. "Yeah."

"You might wanna get going then- in ten minutes this place will be swarming with shinobi filing mission reports." She looked at his face, though not daring to meet his eyes, and flinched when she saw how genuine he was. He really wanted her to be on time for her date with their teammate.

"Yeah." She repeated blankly, turning and leaving the mission office. Pausing by the door she turned around, and when Choji caught her eye he smiled, before turning back to his work.

_Shout at me!_ She thought desperately as she ran from the office, blinking back bitter tears. _Turn around and tell me you want me to stay! Dammit Chojij, tell me you love me!_


	5. 7 things

OKAY. So, some of you who have been my watcher for a while will recognize this. That's because I am moving all my old drabbles and oneshots into Century, and will continue to post them here. It just makes it easier to keep track of all my really short stuff. So the next six or seven updates should be stuff previously posted separately. So… here you go!

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**7**** T **h i n g s

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1. Neji likes to pretend that things didn't happen this way. He closes his eyes and tries to forget the slick feeling of blood on his skin; the shallow breathing and screams he remembers too well. Sometimes people will tell him they're sorry, but he likes to frown and walk away, thinking in his head 'what did they mean?' because he tells himself it'll make him feel better, and maybe then he won't remember anymore.

2. Neji likes to pretend the funeral didn't make him cry. Everyone else was crying but he likes to think that maybe he has some self control. They asked him to speak at the service but he didn't, so he just sat in the back row next to Gai and tried not to cry. When he heard Gai tear up and start to moan Neji gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, because if anyone should be crying it should be him and if he can control himself anyone could. But after a few minutes of silence he put his head in his lap and cried, because he wasn't as strong as he wished he could be.

3. Neji likes to pretend he doesn't feel guilty. He stares at the mirror and tells himself it wasn't his fault. It was the rogue ninja's fault, he says out loud thickly through a layer of alcohol. It was the mission office for getting the ranking wrong and the Hokage and Gai for not being stronger. He drinks some more and tries to forget how it felt to watch his teammates die, but he can't. It's not my fault! He screams and punches the wall angrily because he knows it really is.

4. Neji likes to pretend he doesn't notice the pitying looks people give him when they think he won't notice. Poor boy, they'll say as if he can't hear, and he has to try his best not to attack them then and there. He remembers how it felt to be stared at when he and Gai returned to the village; returned after a week of being declared legally dead. They were half-dead and dripping with blood and the stares of shock had been bad but he'd take them over pity any day. He didn't like being pitied. It made him feel weak. It made him feel as though Lee and Tenten's deaths had been inevitable simply because Neji was too hopelessly weak. Neji wished he wasn't so weak.

5. Neji likes to pretend Gai isn't all he has left. Because now the man is different, sad, and Neji doesn't think he can deal with the depression. They haven't been on mission in months, at least, not as a team. Gai throws himself into A and S-class solo mission, never giving himself time to fully recover; it's how he deals with the pain. Neji can't help but avoid him when he comes home from a mission, because he reminds him of his teammates. Neji's not surprised Gai never wears green anymore.

6. Neji likes to pretend he didn't get drunk with Gai after one of his especially hard missions. He tries to forget how he'd followed his teacher home, and how they'd started crying and kissing and getting angry. He'd taken off the man's clothes suddenly and he'd attacked back. Since then Neji's thrown himself at nameless women; there's barely a week he doesn't sleep with three or four women he's never seen before and will never see again. But he can still feel Gai's fingers on his skin; can remember how angrily they'd touched each other. Neji avoids Gai now whenever he returns to the village, and Gai avoids Neji as well. Neither of them can stand each other's company anymore; it reminds them both too much of things they'd rather forget.

7. Neji likes to pretend he's still okay. He tells himself this because it's the only way he can keep living with himself, the way he can cope.

He's isn't.


	6. Forsaken

Okay, here's another old oneshot moved here. Enjoy~

**Original comments: **Just a quick little thing I baked up while listening to the song 'Forsaken' by Korn. Kind of random, and I apologize for the very non-fanfiction-ness of it. Was going to be more Neji-centric, but then it kind of died and this is what it became. As a quick note, the 'glass-eyed man' mentioned repeatedly is no one in particular. Again, I was going to go into more detail but it just didn't work. Have fun!

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**F** o r s a k e n

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He can barely remember the feeling of her hair in his fingers. He can no longer remember her name; he has no idea how many years it's been since he could. Tens of hundreds, he thinks, knows, because if it has been any shorter it would mean he was going insane. No, he thinks. It's all the days and months and years piling up so high I cannot see where they begin. That's all.

He can no longer remember his name, only knows what people call him now. He'll pass the people clothed in lavish dresses and hear them whisper things of the last immortal Hyuuga, the last shinobi. He knows that's not true. It can't be true, because he can only keep from going insane as long as he knows the glass-eyed man is still alive and out there, somewhere, for him to find and kill. Kill for making him go through this pain, for making him go insane.

He doesn't like the way the world has changed. He can vaguely remember a time before his kind died out and the art of chakra was lost. He remembers it was a painful time, but something in him tells him it was a happier time. A time when he'd had friends and people he'd loved. He could barely remember what it felt like to love someone anymore, it had been so many years.

His hands are not as smooth as they must once have been. They are laced with scars, thick and thin, as is the rest of him. He remembers a time when all he'd known was blood. How many hundreds of thousands of years had it lasted? He didn't know; could only count the scars and dream about how alive fighting must have made him feel. Of course, he doesn't know, but he supposes that anything is better than the half-life he's been living for so many decades. It must be, because he watches everyone smile and can't find it in himself to try.

He doesn't like how calm things are. The shinobi had given way to soldiers who had given way to the kings of now, who keep peace and order or something. He's not sure what they did, as he's never enjoyed getting caught up in politics. Eventually every politician dies, every law gets written and then rewritten again, what difference does it make to him? None; sooner or later they all died, so what was the point?

He met the glass-eyed man for the second time in his half-life in a mountain range that used to be covered by oceans. He'd cornered the man and forced him down, but he just laughed and told him how it didn't matter what he wanted or what was fair. 'We'll live on,' he'd said, 'as the whole world dies around us. When the world cracks into pieces and floats away into the air we'll still be here.' he'd pushed the man off the mountains, and heard the bone-crunching slam as the body hit the rocks bellow. He didn't look again, but he knew the man was still alive somehow, because he could remember what he'd said the first time they'd met. 'Now my pain will be your pain,' he had said with a grin, and he knew that as long as one of them was wandering the world they both would stay here, and probably even after they both died they'd still be alive, wandering the earth with their decades and centuries of memories weighing them down and driving them insane.

He can't remember what it felt like to breathe. He hasn't breathed in years, he only sits there. He hasn't breathed or eaten or left the house in years, and still he's here. No one comes near the house, and people speak of finding ghosts or ghouls but in the end no one comes. He can't remember what he looks like or what humans are even supposed to look like, because there's too much to remember and he can't take it. He hasn't talked or listened to anyone talk in decades, and he can't always remember what things are. He can't write or read and if you spoke to him now he wouldn't understand.

It's been years since the house rotted away but still he sits there. The world now is dark and grey, and he can taste in the air he doesn't breathe that nothing's supposed to live here anymore. Thunder crashes as if to tell him to go away, reminding him again that he's unnatural.

He finally meets the man a third time; at least, he thinks it's the man because he can't remember another man like him. He can't remember anything anymore.

The other man gives him a blank look and collapses to the ground beside him. He's bleeding and his skin's so white it looks like he's been bleeding so long he has no more blood at all. He has scars and cuts lacing his naked body and he breathes labored breaths, because breathing makes him feel like he's still just a little bit human.

The man has come because he's grown tired, dead, and he's so lonely he wants to kill himself. But he can't, and neither can the other man so he thinks maybe they can keep each other company until something finally comes along and ends it all. He tells himself he doesn't know the day will never come.

The two men lay there, not breathing and not eating and slowly going insane. They are huddled into each other for comfort but still they feel so alone, so hopeless that they can barely stand it.

And so they lay there, for millennia and millennia as the world dies and their bodies rot. The sun stops rising and eventually they stop noticing the loneliness, but still they're here, forever and on past the end of time because in the end, they never really had a choice.


	7. The Accident

Written in an hour or two while procrastinating and listening to too much Godsmack. I was reading a time-travel fic where they made Sakura's parents out as civilians, which I just don't think fits. I can't believe Kishi gave _Shino_ a family and not Sakura, lead girl/love-interest. So _anyways_, here's my slightly angsty take on them, and why they are never seen out and about during shinobi battles.

**Summary**: Despite what people thought, Sakura's parents had been ninja. At least, until they got sent on a mislabeled mission and the 'accident' happened…

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**T** h e **A** c c i d e n t

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"_Makino!"_

_The dust flew through the air thickly, filling his mouth with a gritty dirt and making him gasp painfully for breath. Chakra coursed underfoot, making the ground so soft the pink-haired boy could barely walk. He held out his hands to balance himself, his feet glowing blue with the chakra he was circulating viciously just to keep himself upright._

"_Ukita!" He choked out, stumbling through the trees blindly. His mind could barely think, his sightless blue eyes still frozen on the image of their Kagae-sensei, face down among the rocks, the gaping hole in his chest spilling blood onto the ground and wetting their bare toes. "Ukita, where are you? Tozawa?"_

"_Makino, watch out!" The sound of his teammate's warning carried loudly to his ears but he couldn't move fast enough, and before he could even draw his sword from its sheath pain sliced open his legs from behind, silver metal slipping through the soft skin like butter._

_With a terrible shriek the Haruno fell to the ground, gasping for breath as tears threatened to drip down his cheeks. He could feel the agonizing sting as his skin and muscles fell open to the gritty air, blood pooling sticky under his loose black pants._

"_Makino, what happened!" Ukita's voice was closer now, fretful and high-pitched. "Makino, Makino tell me you're still there!"_

"_Don't come any closer!" Makino managed to gasp, trying to lift himself from the ground bit wincing as any movement made crippling pain shoot through his body. On his third attempt he felt a rough hand catch in his short hair, a cold blade pressing against his neck. Before he could react the sand began to clear, revealing Ukita's dirty, scraped up form, collapsing to the ground as the suddenly solid ground threw her off balance. Tozowa always had been their taijutsu expert-_

"_To- Tozowa!" Makino felt his blood run cold as the corpse of the small Inuzuka came into view, his bleeding body hunched over the form of the loyal wolf cub still grasped in his pale fingers. An amused snicker came from above him but he didn't dare look up, the thin kunai already drawing blood from the taught skin of his throat. "Ukita, get away now!"_

"_Too late little genin."_

_The tall man appeared suddenly behind Ukita, dragging her up by her long blonde hair and holding his long sword against her neck. "One of you moves so much as a finger and we'll kill you both."_

_Ukita's green eyes stared at Makino fearfully, her hands hanging at her sides limply, still bandaged from injuries less than a day old. Blood was soaking through the bandages, the hastily stitched gashes beginning to reopen. He was completely unnerved by the panic and devastation in the girl's eyes. She'd always been the loud one; the one to make up for Tozowa's lack of typical Inuzuka brashness. He'd never seen her look so scared, not even last night when they'd found their sensei's dead body just outside their camp._

"_So," The tall, dark-skinned nin started with a sadistic grin, his sword still pressed painfully against Ukita's throat. Makino struggled against the numbing, burning sensation running up his legs, forcing his eyes to stay open. "Since I'm feeling nice today, I'll let you guys choose. Which one of you will die here, and which one of you will carry word of this back to Konoha?"_

"_Ukita, just go!" Makino shouted before he could think, before he could fully comprehend that he was sentencing himself to death. 'Don't think of yourself Makino, don't be the selfish scaredy-cat you always are-'_

"_I'm not leaving you here!" Ukita said, her voice quivering and almost on the verge of sobs. But he could see it, in her eye, the determination and the dedication. She wasn't going to change her mind._

"_Please Ukita!" Makino persisted, his eyes drooping as he could feel more blood seeping into the ground bellow him. He could tell; he was a practicing medic after all. He could tell he didn't have much time left before he died of blood-loss. "_Please_. Even if we both made it back alive I'd be useless! I'll probably never walk again, you know that! You still have the ability to become a full-fledged ANBU, just like you've always dreamed!"_

"_I'm not leaving you here!" Ukita repeated stubbornly, though by now her emerald eyes were on his legs. He couldn't see them well from his position but he could feel the cuts inches deep in his skin. Her eyes were so absolutely _not_ Ukita he almost wanted to shout something stupid and selfish just to make her smack him on the head and stop looking so goddamned helpless._

"_As entertaining as this is, you're beginning to test my patience genin. Here's a little incentive." Before Makino could blink the blade at his teammate's neck flashed up, blood splattering on the ground as Ukita let out a heart-wrenching scream. Her hands flew up to her face as she collapsed to her knees, blood seeping from between her fingers. It dripped down her cheeks like replacement tears for the ones she could no longer cry. The nin smiled sadistically, licking off the bloody blade with his thin tongue. "And every extra minute you waste I'm getting rid of something else."_

"_Makino please!" Ukita cried, her head huddled to her chest as she shook with ragged gasps of pain._

"_What should it be this time?" Makino growled in fury as the nin looming above his crippled teammate played with his chin mockingly. Suddenly his dark eyes brightened, and he turned to the nin crouching above him. "The girl may not be able to see your blood, but she can still hear you scream."_

"_MAKINO!!!"_

* * *

"Ukita!"

Haruno Makino shot up in bed, pink hair flying wildly behind him in its long, bed-head ponytail. As his heartbeat finally began to slow he looked over to his wife who lay beside him in their bed, her face huddled cutely in the crooks of her arms. After a moment however, she moved sleepily, reaching her hand out blindly for Makino's own. He took it, holding it to his scarred face.

"It doesn't sound like Sakura's up yet… did you have a bad dream?" Ukita asked quietly, still sluggish and half-asleep, stretching her maimed arms awkwardly above her and looking blankly up at the ceiling with her covered eyes. Makino's silence came across as a 'yes', and she reached out to grab his shoulders, pulling herself closer to him. "We made it back. We're both still here, and that's the important thing."

"Of course it is." Makino relented, stroking his wife's pale bangs out from where they'd caught beneath the bandages covering the top half of her freckled face. "Are you awake enough to go and start breakfast?"

Ukita laughed, sitting up slowly. "If you mean I'm awake enough to be hungry, definitely."

Makino let out a laugh as well, clicking on his bedside lamp and easing himself from bed, wincing as pain twinged in his crippled legs. He looked down at them sadly, long, thick scars showing from beneath the bottom of his thin summer pajama bottoms.

"Here," Ukita slipped out of bed, Makino's hand on her shoulder guiding her, and stood up. Her red top fell slightly open, revealing the plain black lace of her bra. Makino would never tell anyone but one of the worst things about his wife's blindness was that her previously colorful uniform had become a continuous wash of blacks and grays. The only color she ever seemed to wear anymore was red, a color that carried good and bad memories for the both of them. "Careful now. Sakura's starting her life as a genin today, we can't have you back in the hospital like last time."

Makino laughed as his wife helped him walk clumsily to their shared dresser, sliding open a drawer and picking for them both simple, black and red outfits. He'd followed after his wife in her wardrobe choices, he couldn't help it. "It's not my fault my old legs get over-excited when our Sakura accomplishes something."

"Yes, well, tell those legs of yours I'll rip them open myself if they make my daughter miss her first day as a genin." Ukita threw back, pulling off her top and placing it hesitantly where she could feel with her hand the top of the dresser was. Makino just grinned, helping her into the tight red top. "Hey, this one feels too tight. Are you planning on getting me molested or something?"

"I'd kill anyone who tried!" he answered cheerfully, already done gracelessly slipping on an old pair of shinobi pants and fixing his fluffy, out of control hair.

"Okay, come on." Ukita said, following her husband out into the hall and down towards the kitchen, her thin hand on his shoulder. The couple had picked an old, one floor house for a reason, and she liked the comforting way each floor board felt different under her bare feet. Even without her husband's help it would've been hard for her to get lost in the simple set up.

"Eggs? Pancakes?" Makino asked after sitting Ukita down at the kitchen table, opening and closing the cabinets lining the short walls.

"Eggs please!" Sakura's cheery voice surprised Makino, who consequently dropped the flour he's been holding in his hands and swore under his breath as the white powder hit and covered the floor. He picked up a rag from the counter but as he bent his legs to kneel down he winced. "Here dad, let me get that."

"Thanks Sakura, you're a dream." Makino said sheepishly, standing back up and taking as few steps as he could before reaching over and grabbing the egg carton from the fridge. "Eggs it is then. So, how does the amazing Haruno Sakura feel, to finally graduate and become a genin?"

"Great!" Sakura raved, obviously prepared to talk on the subject for as long as her parents would let her. "I'm on a team with Sasuke too! You know, Uchiha Sasuke? The _last _Uchiha? He's _amazing!_ Of course," his daughter's face darkened and she squeezed the powdery cloth out in the sink violently, "I got stuck with that Uzumaki idiot too."

"Uzumaki Naruto?" Ukita asked from the table, her chin resting on her hands, her elbows propped up on the table. If she was talking to another adult either 'The kyuubi container?' or 'Minato's kid?' would have come next, but she was just as aware as the next of the law stating she wasn't allowed to. "You complain about him a lot."

"Well, it's _because_ he's a horrible idiot!" Sakura fumed, playing angrily with the zipper of her dress.

Makino laughed. "I remember your mother used to do the same thing. 'Ukita, what is this I hear about you beating up Inuzuka Tozowa?' 'Oh, I'm so sorry! He was just being such an _insufferable_ idiot my fist acted on its own and punched him!'"

"Yuck." Sakura stuck out her tongue, finally sitting in the seat next to her mother at the small table. "I have an Inuzuka in my class too. Kiba. I'm just lucky I wasn't on his team. At least Naruto knows how to respect a girl's personal space to some extent."

Makino smiled, dishing out the eggs finished and still sizzling quietly in the pan. "Eat quickly. You've got five more minutes to go before you go and meet your jounin-sensei for a first day of training!"

"Oh- Ack!" Sakura shot up from her chair, her fork still holding a small bit of egg between its teeth. "Oh _god _I said I'd get there a little early!"

"Here then," Makino handed her a small, disposable take-out box and slipped her egg inside. "You can finish it when you get to training. From what I hear, your sensei will probably be late anyways." He could remember Hatake Kakashi from his days 'in limbo', the months after the accident but before he'd cut ties with the ninja world. From what he'd heard he was a prodigy, a deadly ninja, and_ always_ late.

"Thanks mom!" Sakura shot back jokingly, grabbing the box in her hands and heading out the door. "If Shoni comes by, tell him I say hello!"

"Sure thing honey!" Ukita shouted after her daughter, smirking to herself as the door slammed shut. "You a_re_ such a girl. First a medic-nin, and now the lady of the house. Tell me, how does it feel to experience such gender confusion?"

Makino punched his wife gently in the shoulder. "You're such a cruel person." He forced down the images that bubbled up at the mention of their genin days.

"Do you think she'll past Kakashi's test? I've heard he hasn't passed any of the teams he's tested in the past."

"What are you talking about? Of course she will, she's our daughter."

Ukita sighed to herself worriedly, staring at the wall with her sightless eyes. "That's what I'm worried about Makino…"

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'll be fine. Her team's makeup sounds classic- I'm sure the three of them will be getting along fine in no time." Makino stood up, kissing Ukita's cheek before dragging her to her feet. "Now, Do you think we should go do groceries, or go and hole up in our room until Sakura's home?"

"Makino-"

"Think about it Ukita." Makino spoke in a mock serious tone, grasping Ukita's shoulders in his hands. "Do you want to go out and _slowly, painfully_ find our way to the market, Spend _hours_ getting all the things we actually need, and then trudge _all _ the way back here just because we _should_, _or_…"

Ukita giggled, pushing Makino back enough to make him fumble but not enough to actually hurt him. "I get your point." She hugged her arms around his neck gently, her finger tips brushing the thin ridges of scar tissue scattering her arms' tan skin and followed him down the hall and back to their bedroom. "Will you remind me _why_ I married you again?"

"Because there are not enough people with naturally pink hair in this world and to remedy this problem we Haruno's need to breed." Makino explained slowly, as if to a child, making Ukita smile.

"But what if Sakura looked like me and ended up a blonde?"

"Off with her head!" Makino shouted, pushing Ukita suddenly back and onto the bed they'd finally reached.

"But what if we tried again and again and _still_ didn't have any pink-haired children?"

"Haruno massacre!" Makino screamed, attacking Ukita and landing on top of her with an 'oof'.

"Don't be so loud!" Ukita scolded, though she was still smiling widely. "Do you want all the civilians to hear us and wake up? You should know it's only ninja who wake up at this ungodly hour.

"Let them come! I'll slice off the head of anyone who looks at you!"

"Now _that's _ a massacre."

"Civilian massacre!"

"Makino-" Ukita whined, though after a moment she fell silent and she just hugged her husband's body with a quiet almost sadness. She'd never get quite used to the idea, them as civilians. Because they _were_. They couldn't fight or complete missions and their chakra points had been so damaged they'd have trouble completing a simple cloning technique. And even if she _was_ still considered a shinobi it wouldn't make a difference; she still felt the pang of anger, fear, and disappointment anytime she didn't see something; every time she turned to face her daughter and didn't have any idea what she looked like. She still would never be _okay_, no matter how many titles were tacked to her name.

"Hey, Ukita," Makino said quietly, "Cheer up, okay? We're still here, and that's what's important. We can still grow old together, two senile old cripples."

"Who says I'm going to be senile?"

"All old people are senile. Remember Kiyoka? It took me three weeks to convince Tozowa we weren't dating."

"But in the end it was true. Maybe old people can just read the future."

"Ah, that sounds better. Two old psychic cripples living in a small, cruddy old house as their daughter runs off heroically into the sunset, spawning even more pink-haired hell children. It has a nice ring to it, you know?"

"Definitely Makino, definitely…"

Maybe, just maybe things weren't so bad. A little lonely, yes, a little frustrating. But she was content, and she couldn't think of anything more in the world she could wish for.


	8. Serenity

Written in a half an hour or so while listening to the song 'Serenity' by Godsmack on repeat. I'm sorry for the fluctuating between vagueness and actual clearness. I only really get immersed in a song fully for the first while, and then I'm pulled into the words. I really have to start writing shorter drabbles to keep them cool. A quick apology now for the cliché-ness- the song just called out to me and I couldn't resist.

* * *

**S** e r e n i t y

* * *

_Where do we go when we just don't know_

_And how do you relight the flame when it's cold?_

* * *

Kakashi's fingers pulled at the thin strings slowly, one and then the next one down and then the one three strings up. His arms moved gracefully, elbows crooked and his gloved hands bent smoothly at the wrist. His head was tilted slightly sideways as he only half concentrated on his hands movements, his lips humming along to the melody.

He sat cross-legged in the grass in front of the stone, cradling the wooden instrument in his arms. It was a plain instrument, a foreign kirigakure harp-like creation for which he couldn't quite remember the name. It had been his father's, sitting on the shelf above their fireplace for as long as he could remember, collecting dust on its hair thin strings. He couldn't remember why he'd brought it with him in his hasty, teary packing of what little he actually owned as he had left his old house so many years ago. But now he could feel it in the carved wood, the silent tears his father used to cry. He knew how cliché it was but he didn't care because it was the truth.

He continued to play the strings for his friends, the lullaby the same soft tune he could still remember his mother singing under her breath to him at night. He played for his mother and for his father, for Obito and for Rin and for Minato-sensei, whose coffin still lay under freshly turned earth. He couldn't sense anyone coming so he let his mind wander. He closed his eyes and began to play slower, his bare finger tips feeling out each note like a blind man.

With his closed eyes he could still see them smiling at him brightly, hugging them close and telling him not to cry. He could remember how they'd each told him not to worry, that none of this was his fault. But in the end it was, wasn't it? Whether they blamed him or not didn't matter as they all lay beneath the earth now, their names carved in stone the only thing to live on after them. And me, he thought sadly, trying to force back the tears already threatening to fall, There's always me here to live for them. But even as he thought this he felt his heart telling him to escape, to put back on his mask and forget it ever happened. Telling him to forget what Obito had told him and become the tool a shinobi really should be. After all, that's all that shinobi's were; tools of murder.

He set down the instrument down in front of the stone lightly, standing up slowly and slipping on the ANBU mask still tied around his neck. Mother, father, Obito Rin Minato, I'm sorry…

* * *

_Why do we dream when our thoughts mean nothing?_

_And when will we learn to control…_

* * *

Gai's feet traced the tight semi-circle on the ground again and again, back and forth so that there was a deep dent in the dirt, dividing him from the dirty lake in front of him. Hesitantly he leaned down, taking a kunai in his hand and forcing himself to ignore the blood staining the metal brown. Hyuuga Akira-sensei, he wrote in small, neat script, his lines chiseled and sharp. Hyuuga Haruki, Rukeku Youko. Rest in Peace.

He stayed in front of the ground, his fingers tracing mindless swirls in the dirt. The fingernails caked with brown but he didn't even notice, just rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, staring out blindly at the dirty waters in front of him. The fact that he couldn't even glimpse their corpses beneath the lake's surface made him feel cold, as if the water had taken his family and swallowed them whole, leaving no trace behind in the world; as if they'd come and gone without anyone sparing them a glance.

"Akira-sensei…" He forced back tears. He had promised his mother so many years before what he'd promised his father years before that. He wouldn't cry. He couldn't. And he'd promised himself he wouldn't give in, not ever. Even as his mother pushed him to the ground and screamed at him incoherently he just closed his eyes, letting himself forget. Ah, he thought sadly, looking down at the names carved deeply in the damp earth. Why can't I just forget now?

He could still hear his father's mantra ringing in his ears. Shinobi are tools of the village; tools for killing. He repeated it over and over in his head, forcing it into his head so maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. Because the death of three murder weapons should be rejoiced, not mourned. "Be happy…" He told himself, forcing a teary smile onto his face. "They're dead Gai… they've managed to escape…"

He stood up, feeling a twinge in his thigh as he stretched. He looked down to see his black shinobi pants ripped and bloodied, a deep gash stretching his thigh. "Ah…" Taking a small roll of bandages from his pack he sat down on the ground, wrapping his wound for the short journey home. Even after he'd fixed the cut up it stung as he run, bleeding onto the bandages. He just ignored it, running as fast as he could to deliver the news of how, despite the loss of three formidable shinobi, the mission had been successfully completed and the informant had been properly exterminated.

His long strides slowed as he finally reached the village and, after a minute or so, the Hokage tower, His leg was beginning to go numb but he ignored it. Tools could always be fixed; tools couldn't feel pain.

He would never forget the horrified looks on the Hokage's face as he bowed low, giving a brief and to the point report. 'The loss of three formidable shinobi?' He'd asked incredulously, staring at him with a mix of barely noticeable shock, fear, and pity. He'd only nodded and walked out slowly, his body tired and sluggish from blood loss, pretending to have missed the sickened look on the old man's face.

* * *

_I need serenity_

_In a place where I can hide_

* * *

"Kakashi."

The black-haired man sits down, sliding into the booth beside him. The silver-haired man smiles slightly in response.

"Gai… You need something?"

He shakes his head, just leaning against the other's shoulder.

"No… I'm just happy being here… with you…"

The silver-haired ANBU sighs softly, but doesn't force the other man off. He can feel the tranquility that he hasn't felt in so long. At least, not until he met the man beside him. He's been feeling something beating in his chest for the first time in years, something that had long closed itself off from the world. He doesn't fully acknowledge it but he leans into the other as well, their long fingers lacing.

"Yeah… It's nice…"

* * *

_I need serenity…_

_

* * *

  
_


	9. Uncertainty

Okay. Sorry for this T.T I wrote this a few days ago and although it's crap I decided I needed to post _something_ and it's not like this is _un_-postable. It just kind of sucks. 'He' is our lovely Kakashi. Sorry for the weirdness, I swear it was more sane and more Kakashi when I was planning it in my head. Then the idea sort of became a zombie and ran away and this is what happened DX Enjoy.

Warnings: character death and cannibalism (I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself :D)

* * *

**U** n c e r t a i n t y

* * *

What did he want?

Kakashi could barely remember anymore, what he wanted. It was always killing, and he could barely comprehend a life before this one, these long, tedious days stretched so taught they felt as though they could snap at any moment and send them all falling. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made a joke or even the last time he'd pulled a smile; he could barely remember what it felt like not to have dried blood shoved up under his ragged fingernails.

Where had everything gone?

He didn't know. First it had been Sasuke, and then Naruto and Sakura and Kurenai and Shikamaru and Hinata and then the eighth Hokage. Neji had fallen to his knees, blood choking up in his throat as he collapsed in front of his horrified teammate. Then it had been Lee, his eyes on fire and his cries echoing through the trees 'You. Killed. Neji!' he'd been shouting, and before he knew it Tenten and Gai had been added to the pile, their names scribed quickly on the second memorial stone of the month. Nothing like that could be given any time anymore. There were preparations to be made; there were dying ANBU to save and children to look after. There were treaties to hurriedly sign and speeches to be made. 'Listen, please, this isn't the end!' he could hear the ninth and the tenth and the eleventh Hokage shouting, their bandaged hands clutching the podium so stiffly their fingers turned white.

Why had all of this happened?

He couldn't remember anymore. There had been a reason somewhere, so long ago no one could seem to remember it anymore. The Hokage had been killed? But no, that was later, after the raids had started and the Kazekage had been assassinated and Suna had turned on them. Something to do with the Kyuubi? But no, he'd been killed right at the beginning, in only the second invasion. They must be planning on taking out Konoha all together, trying to wipe it from the map so thoroughly no children will learn of it in the generations to come. But there had to be a reason, didn't there? They couldn't just be fighting for nothing; so many people couldn't be dying for nothing, right?

When had he lost count of the invasions?

Five? Six? Twelve? Thirty-two? Now they were almost nightly, whoever could make it rushing through the village, pillaging and setting the safe houses on fire. They stole what little food was left and burnt everything else to the ground. It seemed almost fitting, that the country of fire should go down in flames. Fighting fire with fire. It almost would have been funny, if he hadn't forgotten how to laugh. If he hadn't forgotten how to do anything but kill.

Was there any such thing as a civilian anymore?

They were all killing; it was all anyone did. They'd sit inside in fear during the long hot days, healing from their wounds and holding kerchiefs over their dry mouths so as not to breathe in the every so often poisonous ashes. It had been weeks since anyone had been called 'ninja' or 'civilian'. All there were was the survivors and the dead. There were the hollow looking men and women and children who sat silently, swords held tightly in their hands, and there were the corpses lying around them. Every morning those with enough strength would drag the bodies of the dead out and into the streets, letting the dying fires melt the bloody flesh from the bones. At first he had kept count; tried to find familiar faces. But now he didn't even look down as he pulled the corpses out from the houses, not even watching at they began to burn away. When Morino Ibiki, one of the few left who could truly inspire the people had died, it had taken him almost a week to find out, and another two days before he realized that he had been the one to take his body to the fire.

Why him?

When it comes time to decide who should infiltrate the enemy camp he's the unanimous choice. Not only is he one of the top-ranking ninja still alive but he is the only ninja left in this side of the village. The young girls who spend their days huddled together in the corner come up to him and bow low, thanking him for risking his life. But this is a rarity. Most of the time they all just accept that this is it, and they all understand that this is the only possible option.

Why did it have to taste so good?

On his way from the camp he can't help but stop, his eyes trailing over the still clothed corpse lying in the middle of the road. It shocks him, how strange he looks, and after a minute of staring he realizes it's because his bones aren't showing beneath his skin; it's because this man hasn't been starving to death like the rest of them. He can't help himself as he inches forward, his bare finger poking at the burnt flesh. Everything has been so close for so long the privacy is disconcerting. Before he can stop to think he takes a small slice of the man's flesh and stares at the pink meat. It's slippery beneath his fingers and, after a small moment, he sticks it in his mouth. It sits there for a moment on his tongue before he swallows it. It tastes burnt and dirty in his mouth, raw and slimy, but he can't remember how long it's been since he's eaten anything close to fresh, and it tastes _good_. Before he continues on he looks from side to side, filling his small side pouch with the meat and running out of the village.

What does chakra feel like?

He doesn't really know anymore. The body naturally creates chakra as it does blood and bones, but when there is nothing to burn after all the fat is gone the body slowly stops, taking the energy it uses to create chakra to keep itself alive. Chakra still flows through his veins thinly, but sometimes he can't even feel it, only the exhaustion a lack of chakra brings. It takes all his energy to perform and complete the simple henge needed to change his dirty, tattered ANBU uniform into the bright red the enemy has taken to wearing, and to change the Konoha hitai-ate around his arm into an alternate one. He walks out of the village, glad that his lack of chakra keeps the enemy from looking at him closer. As soon as he's out of the village he collapses against a tree and lets the henge drop, closing his eyes in fatigue. Carefully, stuck between desire and hesitation, he removed a bit of meat from his pouch and eats it quickly, his mouth watering at something that passes as an excuse for real food.

Why does it end like this?

He asks himself the question, too tired to say it out loud, as he feels arms grab his own and force him up and against the side of the temporary cabin their sharp eyes glaring into his own. 'So there are some of you left?' the man asks, staring at the bandages covering his eye questioningly. The man's fingers rip them off easily to reveal the empty socket, sagging limply and palely. He could remember the day he'd finally gouged the sharingan out, it's constant drain on his chakra becoming a life-threatening nuisance. The man waited a moment, before sticking his knife into his throat, lodging it center straight and smiling as he chokes up blood, gasping for every agonizing breath. Why did it have to end like this? Does no one have a chance at all anymore?

Why did this happen?

The remaining survivors all ask themselves this, as the grey-haired corpse is drug into the village main square and tied to a wooden pole, his head hanging down on his chest limply, a warning to all who are left to defy the invaders. How could this happen? Why us? The two girls who still sit in the corner don't react as they hear of the ninja's death, nor do they get up to visit his corpse in the square, as some of the final remaining ninja are doing. They just huddle together for warmth, closing their eyes and trying to fall asleep, because they don't want to look at even more proof that it's all over. Because, in the end, all they can do is wait to be either discovered and killed or slowly starved. The older of the two girls looks up briefly, realizing she and her sister are alone in the room, and her hazy eyes wander over to the fresh corpses now lying on the floor. The wet blood stains her dress and she barely flinches as a scarlet uniformed man walks into the room, his sword held over his shoulder and his eyes looking down at her resignedly, his face weary as if he too wants this all to end.

Why?

His sword comes down on the two silent girls quickly, the blood spattering on his uniform barely visible against the red.

Why does it have to be this way?


	10. Normal

So.... I wrote this a week or so ago and, while going through my dropbox today, I found this and figured why not post it. It was supposed to be different when I first started, as always, but then it sort of ran away (as they always so). I just sort of Kiba-gasmed that night and this was the baby. Enjoy~

(Oh yes, and I apologize for killing his sister off. I just _needed_ to use the phrase about their secret dying with them, and as he died with her still alive and knowing the truth my muse wouldn't let go)

* * *

**N** o r m a l

* * *

Everyone Kiba knew seemed to think child abuse was a flashy thing. Giant shouting matches and bloody punches to the floor; no dinner and locks on the doors and the mothers crying themselves to sleep in fear. He found himself almost wishing that was the truth because at least then everything would be clear cut; Kiba: good guy, father: bad guy. That way he wouldn't have to ever feel guilty.

People would be surprised by the sporadic pattern of their relationship. There were days when they'd be smiling, and Kiba would hold his father's hand and the four of them would go out to dinner with smiles on their faces. There were days when his father would bring home small foreign kunai as souvenirs; days when they'd all go out for ice cream and talk for hours and hours. There were days when he'd almost forget the ghosts of bruises coloring his throat in the shape of a hand.

Once did he have someone ask him if his father ever hit him. Not in the childish way, not like when Naruto would come in complaining about the violent habits of adults, but in a serious, 'I'm really worried for your health' kind of way. He could still remember the worried look on Iruka's face, the way his hands had forces back the sleeves of his jacket to reveal the purple blotches on his wrist and the red scrapes covering his elbows. He'd only shaken his head and said he'd only been wrestling with Naruto, silly, why would you think he'd been beaten up? He's almost had wanted to tell, had almost opened his mouth, and once or twice he almost showed the scar stretching his upper arm, where jagged marks were still etched into his skin from the glass of the bottle, but he couldn't. He wasn't scared and he wasn't being noble. He was worried. What would they do to daddy if he _had_ been hitting him? Kiba didn't want to lose him.

Over the years it had become a normal, everyday occurrence. It was normal, obviously, that all fathers were rough with their children. Once he'd brought it up to his friends in class, had started complaining about how his father had slammed him against the wall and nearly broken his arm the night before but, after a few moments of awkward and worried glances, he'd stopped talking. And over the years it didn't change. He was used to the soreness of his muscles in the morning, was used to the small cuts Hana sometimes sported just beneath the sleeves of her top. He was almost surprised, when she left as soon as she could. Why are you leaving? He'd asked, and she'd only given him a pitying look, because the only thing sadder than a miserable abused child is one who is abused and doesn't even know it.

When Kiba first learned of his teammate's family situation, he'd almost smiled. He felt sorry for her, sure, but he felt their companionship grow. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been called a failure; didn't know how many times his father had ignored him for a few drinks and the radio. But he had learned over the years that what happened to him was not normal, and since his family had no excuse like the Hyuugas he kept his mouth shut, letting Shino comfort the girl, because he was just good at that kind of thing.

The second time someone asked about his family in such a tone was late at night in a small village near Suna, on a night off during a mission to the hidden village. Kiba had used the few folds of bills he kept tucked in his back pocket to buy himself some company, and it wasn't long before the two of them were in bed, their naked bodies pressed together. After things had calmed down, however, the girl had taken a breath, tucking her black hair behind her small ears, and asked. He'd paused for a moment, before smiling brightly, and telling her that what she was thinking was true. He found it surprisingly easy, to confide in a stranger. He didn't have to worry about the consequences, and he wouldn't have to watch the strange look in their eyes for more than a few hours. He started buying prostitutes more, and every time they got around to asking he'd smile and tell the truth. He couldn't lie to himself and say he didn't like it.

Then it was _her_. After so long without her team she'd been sad, lonely, and he'd taken her home with him to his own apartment. Eventually he had moved out as well, following in his sister's footsteps, though instead of escaping the abuse it was his way of escaping the truth; his way of closing his eyes to the fact that maybe his father hadn't been as loving as he was supposed to be. Her pink hair had fallen in her eyes but she'd stared at the scars stretching his body for a moment, before cuddling up to his chest. That must have been painful, she commented, and he realized she had taken the obvious choice of 'battle wound' over the harder choice of child abuse. He found he didn't quite mind.

After another few years Kiba finally met his father again. He'd walked into the house and taken a deep breath. I'm home! He'd shouted like he always had when he was younger. He'd peered into all of the rooms until he reached the last one, his parents' bedroom. Inside he could hear sharp, angry breathing, and he hesitated before pushing the door open. Inside he could see his father's shadow on the ground, breathing heavily as his black hands held something out in front of his like a weapon. Finally he'd flicked on the lights and it was then that he realized he wasn't imagining the warm liquid that was seeping into his socks. The red dripped from her corpse slowly, drip, drip, drip, and he froze at the sight of his father, crouching over his mother's body with the knife still clutched in his fingers.

He couldn't remember what had happened next. He could barely remember the way he'd rushed forward; the blood that gushed from beneath his fingers as they'd clawed at the man who had been his childhood; who had shaped him as a boy and set him on the path he was on now. He could only see the blur as he tackled him to the ground, the man who had brought him home shirts for Akamaru and who had bandages his knees after fights with Naruto and Shino. He couldn't remember the exact moment his neck had snapped; couldn't remember the exact second his tormentor and abuser and his nightmare had finally died.

Kiba didn't fully register what was happening until he was standing in front of the council, the cuffs weighing down his wrists like iron. He didn't ever meet their old, disappointed eyes, only stared at the ground, his shell-shocked mind still reeling from the surprise and fear of finding that his father could do such a thing. He'd been beaten and had bled all over their family room carpet but his father had never been _evil. _At least, he'd never been before.

In the end he was sentenced to death. He wasn't surprised, as hard as it was to accept. Maybe civilians got off easy with their prisons but shinobi were tools, and tools were dealt with briskly and cleanly. One day. He had one day left. He was finally beginning to return from shock when his team visited him in the jail. He didn't like it; the disappointment and resentment in Kurenai's and Shino's faces; he didn't like the fear in Hinata's pale eyes as she shouted shakily that this 'wasn't true, was it?!' He only shook his head, because he hadn't killed them. He hadn't killed his mother, that had been _him_, and he couldn't have killed his own father, could he?

As he was brought to the private room he began wondering if maybe his father wasn't quite like fathers were supposed to be like after all. He'd always known this, but he'd never thought he was so different. He'd heard of child abusers, but his father hadn't been one of them. He still had a picture on the mantle above his fire place, the picture of the four of them smiling brightly, their hands linked like a true happy family. They couldn't both be true, could they? His father was sweet and kind and loved him, his father wasn't the man he had strangled with his bare bloody hands, it was an imposter or a fake or a genjutsu or s_omething_.

When Hana finally returned from her long mission to find her family dead she knew; knew what had happened. She'd always known, had known the truth. She had watched as her brother grew up thinking that it was normal to have your father split your skin in a fit of rage; that it was normal for children to work for their keep. After a quick look at her brother's grave stone she stood in front of her fathers and drew her long sword, holding its tip to her chest. I hope you know what you've done, she'd said, before she plunged the blade into her flesh and collapsed to the ground, their sorrow and their secret following them all to the grave.


	11. Miserable

The other day I got inspired and decided to look for any jinchuuriki!Kakashi stories. Do you know what I found? ONE. On this entire site, I found ONE jinchuuriki!Kakashi fic. Well, I have decided to change that. Originally it was going to be a story where canon!Kakashi got sent to the other world in which he was the Kyuubi jinchuuriki, but I would up falling in love with the original Kyuubi!Kakashi too much not to write something all about _just_ him.

So anyways, this is a preview of sorts, a quick scene I baked up as a 'prologue' but really doesn't quite fit. Advice? Should I write this fic or not? Plot ideas other than his past (which I've figured out)? Or should I go with the cannon!Kakashi traveling into this world idea?

(**warning**: Everyone may seem a bit OOC, but as the sealing method of the Kyuubi in Kakashi was unstable, as it could not meld properly with his chakra, it sort of influences him, making him rude and rather sadistic. Not evil, just a bit violent. Obito and Rin tried to talk to him, they really did, but it really wasn't for any of them to choose.)

* * *

**M** i s e r a b l e

* * *

The bar was a grimy, dusky place, with a ceiling so short a man on his toes could brush it with his fingers. Holes littered the wallboards, and in some places the kunai and senbon still stuck out of the wood. This wasn't one of the better Konoha pubs, to put it bluntly; so as the door swung open to reveal a neatly dressed couple, kunai pouches tied carefully over stainless cloth, the bartender turned his head and raised his eyebrows. For a moment all of them in the bar stared at the two, the tall black-haired man and the brown-haired girl at his side, wondering what people so normal looking could possible want at a place such as this. A moment later, however, they were all back to their drinks, the clatter of dice on wood starting up again with a few raucous shouts.

"Kakashi."

The grey-haired man hunched in his seat turned to see the Uchiha standing beside him, crossing his arms but giving him a surprisingly calm look. The seated man continued to stare blankly until the woman appeared beside the boy, tucking her arm around his carefully. Finally, with a sigh, Kakashi put down his cup and turned completely to face them. "What do you want?"

"Huh. You see that Rin? That's exactly why I said we _shouldn't_ come." Obito said hotly, but Rin cut him off with a quick mediator wave of her hand.

"Kakashi." Rin started, looking at her teammate with almost pitying eyes. "Obito had something… something he wanted to say."

Kakashi raised his eyebrows but didn't respond further. Obito almost snarled, but managed to contain himself. "Rin and I are getting married next week." The man's eyes rose even further, and on his face the look of shock came across as almost mocking.

"Are you now? That's nice." The words alone would've been a compliment, but the man gave a sarcastic edge to them, shrugging carelessly before turning back to his drink. "Yeah, yeah, I'll come if want me to that much-"

"We came to tell you that you aren't invited. I don't mean we hate you- that's _not_ it and don't you dare take it that way- but-" Obito's rough voice made the ANBU stop, cup frozen at his lips. Lowering it slowly Kakashi turned to the Uchiha, his dark eyes narrowing.

"Don't worry at all Obito, you don't have to keep explain, it makes _sense_. Can't have your new friends knowing you used to be friends with the Kyuubi, can't have the stupid fox _ruining_ your life even more than he already has-"

"You're an ass, you know that!" Obito almost shouted, cutting him off, his eyes flashing sharingan red as he glared down at the Hatake. "You're _always_ the victim aren't you? You know, for a moment there I actually pitied you. I thought you know, maybe he just can't control it. Maybe he's _miserable_. But you know what? I think you _enjoy_ being a bastard. Come on Rin, we're going."

Obito turned angrily to leave and, hesitating, Rin turned to Kakashi one last time. "He's not being any more unreasonable than you are. The two of us are leaving for an outpost tomorrow morning. They need a good medic and every big clan's sending in some reinforcements." Kakashi snorted, not taking his eyes off where they'd drifted down to his bandaged hands. Rin's apologetic smile fell to a frown. "I'm pregnant. That's why we really came. We were going to ask you to be the godfather."

By the time the man's eyes had widened in surprise and flickered back up the girl had briskly turned away and was halfway to the door. He watched Rin until she slammed the door, before sighing deeply, running his fingers across the whisker scars on his cheeks absentmindedly. "Fuck it all…"


	12. Folter

I found this while looking through my old torture and death-scene stuff. I cleaned it up a bit and figured 'ah, why not.' So… here you go. It's supposed to be about Kakashi, though really it could be _Tenten_ if you wanted as long as it was male!Tenten. Again, this was a sort of brain!fart product written up in a couple of minutes.

For the original writing two weeks or so ago I was listening to '**Lords of Salem' by Korn**, and for the editing I was listening to **'Du Hast' by Rammstein** (Rammstein is a really great German metal band if you're looking for some really powerful music. Two thumbs up!)

(Folter is the German word for 'torture')

* * *

**F** o l t e r

* * *

There's such a difference between torture and interrogation that he's always wondered how anyone could possible put the two together in the same department. It should just be the division of Interrogation, that would be better. Interrogation is a job, is the act of carefully pushing someone until they break and tell you exactly what you want them to. Torture is mindless, is the sadistic impulse of one to enact pain upon another for no purpose but pleasure. Many say torture is the same as interrogation minus the questioning, and for some it is; for some the victim's pain is as much reward as their information. But fundamentally these two things are completely different. Hard to tell apart sometimes, but different.

It takes him until they've shattered his pelvis, broken both his legs, cut his right arm off and gouged out his sharingan eye to realize that the men had never asked him, and are never going to ask him any questions. It's terrifying to realize such a thing, and this man is not so inhuman as to be able to ignore it. Already he has broken into screaming, gasping sobs, but now there's something more defeated about the bloody ragdoll they toss around on the ground.

There's something strange about feeling true desperation for the first time in his life. He kills for a living, spends all his days ending the lives of others, but this is different somehow. He's spent so many collective hours of his life feeling as though he was to die but this is different; this is _true_. For a moment he can almost feel the blissful realization that it will all end now, but then he feels a sharp stab into his abdomen, and with a shaking bloody cough all he can feel is fear.

No one ever thinks that they would beg. They'd spent their entire lives trained to endure pain, and they've spent too many years on their own not to have so much pride. What no one expects is how real it feels; how scary it really is. How, every time they bring the knife close to your face, you'd rather die than have it come any closer. He begs quietly at first, almost to himself, because he cannot bring himself to beg at another man's feet. But after a while, as everyone does eventually, he's screaming, pleading brokenly for them to just _leave him alone!_ As always all there is the laughing, the laughing and taunting so strangely quiet he cannot hear it over his ragged breaths. It takes one-hundred ninety-seven minutes for his choked voice to finally grow quiet, and the moment it does he feels a dirty hand in his mouth; feels the skin of his tongue splitting and spilling red hot liquid down his throat. They don't want someone who can't scream; who can't keep them occupied.

It takes him a moment to realize what's happening when they're finally done with him. He hasn't been able to see straight for hours, and so the ground blurs beneath his feet and the crowd before him doesn't look like a crowd at first but mass of splotchy colors. Faces come into view, wide-eyed and pale and opening their mouths as if shouting something angry. For a moment he almost thinks they're going to toss him at their feet, but then he remembers that he'd been tortured, not interrogated.

The blade runs through him slowly, twisting awkwardly into his lung and spilling blood down his back. It takes him almost two minutes to die, and he can tell in the glint of the man's eyes he's savoring them.


	13. In The End

Yes, this was separate a while ago, but Century has recently become a dumping ground/ place for ideas so... here you go! I don't like it but I just couldn't bring myself to throw this away.

* * *

**I** n **T** h e **E** n d

* * *

"So… This is what she looked like?"

The small, unmarked fingers poke at the picture lightly, smudging the already cloudy plastic covering. Inside the frame a tall, white eyed woman smiles shyly, arms cradling a small bundle in her arms.

"Yeah." The man answers from beside the child, forcing back the onslaught of memories threatening to break his soft smile. "And then that's you," His finger points to the bundle of blankets from which a small, pale-eyed baby smiles a toothless smile to rival his mother's. Finally he points to the tall, black haired man standing beside the woman, scowling in an almost cheerful way, "And then that's me."

"So…" The black-haired boy starts out as slowly as he always does. He wasn't dumb at all, never had been; he was just cautious. The man was irritated how hard it was for some people to tell the difference. "Where did mommy go?"

"She… died." The man says finally, taking his son onto his lap and stroking his shoulder length hair. "She went on a mission eight years ago and never came back."

"Then… Why are you telling me?" The child's question brings him to a stop. "Isn't it a parent's job to lie to kids about this kind of thing?"

The man stays silent for a long while, because he _knows_ that the way he's raising his child is all wrong. He knows that he needs a female influence and someone not so grumpy and used to death. The boy needs a father who doesn't make him sleep at 'auntie-flower's' every other week because he's gone on missions. Nevertheless sometimes things just don't work out the way they really should. "Maybe. But wouldn't it be unfair, not to know what really happened to your own mother? Do you want me to lie about it for you?"

A moment of thought before, "Well… no. You can lie about other things but I want to know what really happened to mommy." His voice isn't emotional or cold or even confused, just curious. "So… what was she like? You look so grumpy in the picture. Was she annoying?"

He laughs, hugging his son from behind and staring down at the picture of his late wife. It'd been so many years he could barely remember what she acted like or exactly how she smiled. But he could still remember the racing feeling he got as he'd see her, and knew he'd never forget it.

"Well, when she was younger she was always really shy. She was a mighty violent woman later on but when she was your age she couldn't say anything without stuttering."

"Like Rin?" the boy asks, making him grin. It had always amused him, how Minato's twin sister had been the opposite of her loud, pushy parents.

"No, _worse_. She used to have a giant crush on Naruto- yes, _that_ uncle Naruto, and she'd blush anytime she saw him. Once, we all went on a team mission together to sand…"

He continued to talk all night, and the boy continued to listen happily.

Maybe, just maybe, in spite of everything, he wasn't doing it so wrong after all.


	14. Sunday

Again, just dumping on you guys. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of this no matter how crappy it is.

Original comments: {{A quick something I cooked up after thinking that I really ought to do a oneshot like the numbered ones but with days of the week. Sorry for the abstractness- I find it fun to write and I swear everything in here has meaning. This is basically an abstract overview of Sasuke's life starting after the massacre. I was planning on killing him off in the end but killing off the world around him was more fun and just sort of happened. If you'd like some explanation just review and ask for it. Anyways, hope it's okay.}}

* * *

**S **u n d a y

* * *

Sunday

* * *

He's never liked beginnings. They're awkward and they sting at his wounds like lemon juice and sweat. He avoids their eyes because he doesn't want to look into the blackness that is there; doesn't want to accept the fact that he's too weak to become what they all have become. He puts his hands in his pockets and walks away and slowly, when he thinks they aren't looking, he glances back over his shoulder one final time.

* * *

Monday

* * *

He's older now. His hair falls on his cheeks like black curtains shielding him from the rest of the world. He feels the power coursing through his chest, his fingers, his toes, burning him alive from the inside and eating away at the small black crumpled paper crane of his heart. Once upon a time he may have loved the attention they feed him but now he just backs away. No no no don't hurt me don't look at me don't pretend not to see the monster I've become.

* * *

Tuesday

* * *

His feet slip on the muddy ground, rain filling his ears so he can't hear the cries of fear surrounding him. He gropes blindly for comfort, for someone, but his eyes are clouded by the rain and he can't see how many people are lined up to help if he just asks. Maybe one day he'll finally open his eyes and he'll start a fire to burn everything away. Maybe someday he'll finally set down his bag and accept that it's okay to let the paper cranes go. Maybe someday…

* * *

Wednesday

* * *

Slick red dyes his hair and his skin until he looks like the devil on earth, and no one can look at him anymore. He shatters his mirrors and throws them away and locks the small windows covering his walls. He locks them slowly with delicate, bandages fingers, trying his hardest to ignore the agonized screams as the glass shatters and disappears. Death is all he wants and death is all he can give so no one will look at him anymore, and no one will touch his bleeding fingers or kiss his bloody lips. This makes him sad, even though he can't quite remember what sadness means anymore.

* * *

Thursday

* * *

Finally he lets his running feet come to a stop and he looks around. Fire burns up from the buildings and the smoke blocks out the sun so the crops can't grow anymore. He walks through the ravaged fields and picks what's left of the shriveling plants and cooks them over his small black fire, eating them slowly and hating the way they taste so sweet.

* * *

Friday

* * *

Today he feels the wind on his cheeks and flips up his collar, growling at the world for the way it wants him to be happy. He sits alone in his cave and tries to ignore the mold growing on the ceiling and making the small space smell like dung. His eyes are covered with bloody bandages and he just sits there with his blind eyes staring at the wall. He remembers a time when the crops didn't taste so sweet and the blood didn't dye his skin so brightly red. He vaguely remembers a time when maybe he still had a chance.

* * *

Saturday

* * *

His bare toes sink into the sewage as he trudges through the dead rotting corpses, his nose so used to the smell he barely gives it a thought. The bandages covering his eyes are freshly changed and through them he can see the black and white world is black. He remembers in the back of his mind someone, somewhere, that might have wanted to love him, but he throws the thought away with a flick of his bloody wrist. No matter who he was he wasn't there any longer, so none of it really mattered anymore.


	15. Fine Again

So... yeah.

Original comments: {{Something quick I baked up while listening to Fine Again by Seether. Based off an old story idea where Gai, Lee, and Tenten die and Neji gets amnesia because his body is blocking out the old memories of his team to block the pain. Enjoy~}}

* * *

**F** i n e **A** g a i n

* * *

_I am aware now_

_Of how everything's gonna be fine_

_One day…_

_

* * *

_

"Sakura, who am I?"

The pink haired girl turned to face him, an almost fearful expression flickering in her eyes. "Don't you remember? You're Neji. Neji Hyuuga."

Neji turned his head to face his knees, kneading his temples with his thin, bandaged fingers. "I know… I mean, how did I act? All anyone tells me is that I was a prodigy. That, and that I was quiet. Did I spend that much time with my team? Were they the only ones who knew me?"

Sakura sighed heavily, biting her lip. She could remember the boy she'd known as Neji Hyuuga; could remember quite clearly the proud, stuck up, miserable boy she'd seen out and about the village. "You were… focused. You were lonely and sad but… I think you enjoyed being with your team. You would yell at them sometimes and you acted as though you hated Lee but I think you really enjoyed how much they cared for you. I don't think you got much of that sort of thing while at home."

"Lee was my fellow student, along with Tenten, right?"

"Yes."

"What was he like?" Neji gave Sakura a helpless, almost pleading look, and not for the first time Sakura looked into his cloudy eyes and could barely see the Neji she thought she'd known. Neji leaned against the back of his chair, closing his eyes. He looked so weak, his thin arms and legs covered in white bandages that made his papery skin look grey.

"He was the most determined person I've ever met. He was physically unable to use ninjutsu or genjutsu, and though most people would give up in his position he became a taijutsu specialist. He nearly killed himself training so many hours. He used to wear bandages on his hands to cover the scars."

Neji let out a small, sad laugh, shooting Sakura a feeble smile. "I wish I could remember him. He sounds amazing."

Sakura cleared her throat. "You… really can't remember him at all?"

Neji shook his head. "I can't remember any of it. I remember a few things from when I was small, like the small black haired girl."

"Hinata."

"Yes. I remember her. But only when she was younger. I think we used to play together."

A strange silence thickened the air, and finally Sakura gave into her weakness, standing up and turning to the Hyuuga. "I'm sorry. There are things I have to do. Here- let me help you-"

Neji pushed himself up awkwardly, Sakura grabbing his shoulders and helping him limp to his stark white hospital bed. Quietly she watched to make sure he was fine, before walking out of the room quickly, shutting the door behind her.

Letting out her breath Sakura closed her eyes tiredly, letting the soft silence wash over her.

After a long minute Sakura finally pushed herself up and, with one last glance to Neji's room, walked down the hall to tend to her other patients.

* * *

_I am prepared now_

_Seems everything's gonna be fine_

_One day, too late, just as well…_


	16. Guilt

Earlier today I was making a timeline to chart the ages and, in some cases, made-up ages **for a time travel fic** I plan on writing, and my recent Ibiki obsession lead me to wondering how Kakashi would feel, condemning Ibiki to his fate (Kakashi sort of plays god and saves people who died the first time round, such as Obito). The Ibiki everyone knows was, in my world, almost completely formed by the time he was captured and tortured, and Kakashi would know this well, and realize just what the consequences could be if they didn't have such an amazing interrogator on their side.

Hiruzen knows Kakashi came from the future (three years post-beginning of series, from a slight AU in which almost everything is the same except less sannin-ness), which is why he is the main person Kakashi discusses things with. No one else knows about him. Minato calls Kakashi 'tousan, a short version of otousan, which means dad, because this time round Kakashi adopted Minato, as he is (in my mind at least) an orphan. Enjoy this Kakashi-time-traveling teaser!

* * *

**G** u i l t

* * *

Hatake Kakashi couldn't decide. He'd played god of this new timeline for so long that it had become second nature to wake up and ask himself what was going to happen, and just what he could subtly do to change it for the better. Now, however, came a much harder choice to make.

In three days team Yanoko would be leaving to meet a Suna informant on the borders of their country.

Still Kakashi could see the blood; see their names on the memorial stone as clearly as the day they had been carved. Even so…

Could Konoha survive without their greatest head of Torture and Interrogation since the prodigy Yamanaka Inoichi himself?

Kakashi could remember how everyone had thought Ibiki's genin team dead for so long, for over a month, before team Minato had stumbled upon the boy, left to die in the bottom of an abandoned ANBU safehouse. He could remember how pitiful he had looked, bloody and broken and barely as big around as a five year old. He could remember how Rin's eyes had widened in fright as the boy had cracked his eyes opened and let out a mad, hoarse laugh.

But Kakashi could also remember how many times he'd brought nukenin to the man personally; Kakashi could also remember how many times he'd been the only one left who could save them. Ibiki had uncovered so many underground nukenin societies that it was almost ridiculous. Ibiki had hosted the first round of the chuunin exams seven years in a row.

Kakashi knew he should do what was best for the village, for Konoha. But at the same time… hadn't that been what he was doing when he'd left Rin to die? When he'd come too late to save his best friend? When he'd had to watch his prize student become devoured by hatred? Did he really have it in him to live out five whole weeks, knowing what the brunette was going through?

"Kakashi… what is it?"

Kakashi opened his eye to see Hiruzen giving him a worried look, frowning slightly as he set out tea for the both of them on the kitchen table. Hiruzen drew himself up a chair, and Kakashi sighed. There would be no point in hiding it. "If you had the chance to do something good for the sake of your village, would you do it, even if it meant ruining someone's life?"

Hiruzen paused for a moment, his hand resting on his mug's handle, as if weighing his options. "Who is it?"

"Morino Ibiki." Kakashi said, maybe a little too quickly, because Hiruzen's eyes shot to his face, surprised.

"Ibiki? Yanoko's boy?" Kakashi nodded. "What happens to him?"

"In three days team Yanoko's going to be assigned a mission to Sunagakure."

Hiruzen took a drink of his tea before setting the cup back down. "And you're positive this mission still exists this time around?"

"Is there still a war? Are there still enemies who will do anything possible for information?" Kakashi countered before he could stop himself, and he could see Hiruzen's mind processing the comment.

"Ibiki- ah…" Hiruzen's eyes went suddenly hard, and Kakashi could see the Hokage in him coming out. "Does he inherit T&I after Inoichi?"

Kakashi nodded. "He ties Inoichi for the youngest ever to lead the division, and he outranks his results two fold. He was still the head when I left, and he was one of the reasons other villages had so drastically improved their standards for resilience in spies."

Hiruzen hesitated for a moment before asking the question. "Do the rest of them die?"

"Yes. I… I saw their corpses myself. Their deaths seemed to have been part of the… _questioning_." Kakashi had to stop himself from saying 'torture'.

Hiruzen doesn't answer for a long time, and only after they've both finished their tea and he'd rinsing out the glass cups does he open his mouth again. "Is the Morino Ibiki you know essential for the well-being of our village?"

It takes Kakashi a moment to admit it to himself. "Yes. He is."

"Then I think you have your answer."

A long silence played through the room, and for a very long time no one said a word.

"'Tousan, Sarutobi-sama, are you in there?" The loud shout woke both the men from their thoughts, and Kakashi stood up quickly to answer the front door. The blonde man smiled widely at the sight of his surrogate father. "'tousan!"

Kakashi pouted. "No honorifics for me?" Minato pushed past Kakashi with a laugh, his flaming coat floating out behind him like a cape.

"Sorry, you haven't made Hokage yet. You don't get to be a part of the club."

"Hey blondie, watch what you say." Kakashi scolded playfully, shutting the door behind the careless man. Following his past sensei into the kitchen he saw Hiruzen already chatted cheerily with him, his face stretched in a small smile. Still, as Hiruzen caught Kakashi's eye, he sent him a meaningful look.

They both knew.

If it was a choice between this happiness, and a couple of years of agony for a future hero, they would always put Konoha first.

Kakashi supposed this was what had made Hiruzen such a good Hokage.

Unlike Kakashi, he knew how to deal with the guilt.


End file.
